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[Outworld] Old Friends . . . Can Kill You

As the dark figure in the entrance to the saloon raised his gun, Cain moved so fast that he blurred. Spinning around and sweeping his rifle up from the counter, he pointed it at the doorway, firing one-handed as he threw himself sideways out of the path of the bullet.

With a cry of pain, the figure at the front door fell forward into the room, the pistol sliding from his hand to rest near my feet. The other patrons of the bar, however, had seized the opportunity to draw their own weapons, and I felt Cain’s hand grab my shirt and yank me back towards the bar as shots flew overhead to shatter bottles above us. As I was hauled bodily backward, I had just enough presence of mind to grab onto the pistol, bringing it with me.

I winced as glass rained down on us. “What do we do now?” I yelled to Cain over the ringing gunfire.

Cain glared back at me as he reloaded his rifle with a fresh cartridge. “We fight back, of course!” he replied. “You’ve got a weapon, now use it!” With that sage bit of advice dispensed, he popped up over the top of the bar, blasting away at the other bar patrons.

I looked down at the gun in my hand. The pistol was large and silver-plated, with a six-round revolving chamber. A logo stamped into the handle read “Tet Corporation.” Hoisting the gun in my hand, it felt unusually heavy. “I don’t know if I can actually shoot somebody!” I called out.

Instead of responding, I felt the sharp pain of Cain’s boot connecting with my backside, shoving me out from behind the relative safety of the bar. I rolled across the floor and found myself staring up at an equally surprised man attempting to reload his own pistol. He frantically tried to snap his gun together, but without thinking I whipped around my hand and squeezed the trigger.

I stared in horror as the man’s chest exploded in a shower of red and he collapsed forward. I could have remained on the floor, transfixed, but another round dug itself into the rough wooden floor only inches from my ear, and I pulled myself up behind one of the flipped tables.

Peeking over the top of the tabletop, I saw that the last two patrons had emerged from behind their shelters and were approaching the bar. I could hear Cain cursing, and guessed that something had happened to his gun. I took a deep breath.

Standing up, I leveled my pistol at the two men. I pulled the trigger four times in quick succession, putting two rounds in each man.

As my revolver clicked empty, a silence fell over the ruined bar. Cain rose cautiously to his feet on the far side of the bar, yanking a jammed round loose from the rifle’s chamber with a grunt of frustration. His expression shifted towards grim pride as he surveyed the dead bodies. “Not bad,” he nodded. “Gather up the bullets and anything else that looks useful. We’re leaving Salvation.”